


you belong with me

by ShatterinSeconds



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, Nyma is a bitch, Pining Keith (Voltron), broganes, keith blushes a lot, klance, klangst, yes this is loosely based on that taylor swift song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-18 22:48:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10626738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShatterinSeconds/pseuds/ShatterinSeconds
Summary: He stands in front of the sink, the water streaming down from the faucet. The mirror reflecting Lance--and Keith’s image to some extent--is cracked from a fight earlier in the year; it fractures Lance’s perfect features, a spiderweb of eyes and hair and a nose.“Did you hear all that?” he mumbles, his hand now roughly carding through his hair.Keith shrugs. “It was kinda hard not to.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Instead of updating my other stories, I stupidly decided to write a 7k Klance fic. Anyways, I'm still pretty happy with how it came out, and hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Songs used in this oneshot are You Belong With Me by Taylor Swift and Fooled Around and Fell in Love by Elvin Bishop

 

_You're on the phone with your girlfriend_

_She's upset_

_She's going off about something that you said_

* * *

Keith hears Lance before he sees him. It’s hard not to. It starts as a quiet muffle that Keith ignores as he continues to walk through the deserted hallway. Skipping class again, his brother would be so disappointed. Keith can almost picture the upset gaze of his dark gray eyes and the way the pink scar across his nose will crinkle as his face tightens, breathing in a deep sigh before speaking. Keith has Shiro’s speech memorized; the words cycle through his head every day.    

Lance’s voice is louder now, obnoxiously so. It scatters away Keith’s thoughts as he comes to a screeching halt outside of the boy’s bathroom.

“Just shut the fuck up, Nyma. I was _not_ insulting your intelligence. I was just offering to tutor you in Math so you can fucking _graduate_!” As Lance’s voice cracks, Keith cautiously opens the door. Lance, his mouth a thin, angry line, takes no notice.

He stands in front of the sink, the water streaming down from the faucet. The mirror reflecting Lance--and Keith’s image to some extent--is cracked from a fight earlier in the year; it fractures Lance’s perfect features, a spiderweb of eyes and hair and a nose.

A chatter of noise punches through the phone pressed against his ear. “No, no you listen, Nyma, if you don’t want help, kindly tell me because I was just being nice! Don’t come bitching about your failing grade later!” Stuffing his fist into his mouth, Lance releases a muffled scream while he frustratingly ends the call, slamming his phone onto the porcelain sink. He has a frustrated grip on his hair, brown locks flowing through the cracks in between his fingers. Finally, Lance lifts his head, his blue eyes locking onto Keith through the mirror.

“Did you hear all that?” he mumbles, his hand now roughly carding through his hair.   

Keith shrugs, his shoe anxiously sliding across the wet tile. “It was kinda hard not to. You’re lucky the hallway was clear.”  

“Wasn’t completely clear.” His fingers stumble around the faucet handle, his hand shaking while he turns the knob to the right.

Lance doesn’t move to face Keith, but he doesn’t leave either, so Keith continues, curiosity overtaking his common sense. Besides, there’s nothing better to do anyways, and going back to class is not an option Keith would like to consider. “Who was that? Who’s Nyma?”

Startled, Lance jerks around, his mouth falling open in disbelief. “Are you serious? You--you don’t know…”

“Should I?” Keith blinks and tugs the elastic band from his hair; locks come tumbling down, gently brushing his neck.

As if starstruck for a moment, Lance doesn’t respond, his eyes unabashedly roaming over Keith’s face, searching for something. “Nyma’s my girlfriend. Wait, do you even know who _I am_?”

“Yeah, you’re Lance. We have class together.” _You're on the swim team and you’re probably the hottest guy in this school and I have a_ giant _crush on you._ Keith opts to leave the rest of his thoughts in his head. He knew Lance had a girlfriend, unfortunately, but he never cared enough to learn her name or what she looked like. To him, this Nyma is a ghost. “I hope she apologizes to you, by the way.”

“She won’t,” Lance replies offhandedly. He doesn’t seem bothered by that fact. Except, if Keith looks at this man closely and studies his tone, he can find the disappointment hidden within.

Both of them unable to continue the conversation and neither having the ability to walk away, they stare at each other, no restraints holding them back. Keith sinks deeper into his thoughts, wondering if he should reply to Lance’s previous statement. Obviously that relationship is not how one is usually portrayed in romance movies, not that Keith is very versed in that genre.

“Hey, your name is Keith, right? We’re in Biology together!” Lance exclaims, breaking the couple minutes of silence.

 _And English and Math,_ Keith mentally adds on. How easily Keith can fade away from people’s memories; it’s what he prefers though. A minute of awkward silence descends upon them before Lance smiles, a breathtaking smile that chases away the gloomy shadows of the boys' disgusting bathroom. Lance walks closer, head cocked as he scrutinizes Keith with new enthusiasm.

“I remember who you are now; you’re Pidge’s hot friend.”

“E-excuse me?!” Keith knocks into the wall, surprised, his brain mush.

“Uh, I mean--” Lance quickly scrambles for new words “--You’re Pidge’s friend. Yeah, her friend.”

“I’m her _best_ friend.” Keith straightens, pretending what Lance had said earlier never happened. _That wasn’t what he said; it didn’t happen. It did NOT happen,_ Keith has to tell himself before he starts hyperventilating, but he also makes a mental note to analyze this scene later, when he’s alone and able to scream.

“Ha, yeah,” Lance nervously laughs, “Hunk will be sad to hear he’s second, but I think he knew that already.”

The shrill bell rings, pounding in his ears and chasing away any words. Lance jumps in his place, his eyes now flicking to the clock hanging on the wall. Chatter from their classmates and underclassmen stream through the cracks between the door and its frame. It’s enough to motivate one of them to make the first move.

“Want to go to Bio?” Lance jerks his thumb to the door and Keith can only mutely nod, eyes downcasted to the dirty floor instead of on Lance’s beautiful face.  

 

“Pidge, wanna work to--”

“I’ll be choosing your partner, Mr. Kogane. Settle down.” Slumping down in his seat, anger simmers around him. Working with other people, socializing outside of his one person friend group… is not a strong suit of his.

The teacher begins to call out pairs, and Pidge reassuringly pats Keith’s shoulder as she moves to sit with her partner, somewhere in the way back corner.

“McClain and Kogane.”

Keith refuses to look at Lance who sits in the front row. On the inside he melts while the surface of his skin burns. His life is one big shit hole. A shadow plops down next to him, a hand swooping in to tug out his remaining earbud. The music screaming through his head vanishes.

“So, _partner_ ,” Lance begins, adding a fake southern twang to his voice, “when and where do you want to do this?”  

Confused by Lance’s actions, Keith blankly stares at him. They’ve been going to school together for four years and they’ve never spoken to each other, but now Lance invades his personal space without thought and Keith lets him. He wonders if Lance’s girlfriend problems are affecting his actions more than Keith expected it too. Before he can stop himself, he begins to smile softly. It feels good to be important to someone even if it will only be a day or two and then he will be back to being a forgotten ghost. A blip in Lance’s life. One not worth revisiting.

“My house or your house?” Lance asks, cocking his head as he raises an eyebrow. Keith must have missed a chunk of the one sided conversation.

“N-not my place.” Keith can’t even call it a house; it’s three rooms above the mechanic garage Shiro manages but doesn’t own. They have an ant problem and the microwave doesn’t work. It’s not a house, but at least when Shiro’s there he can call it home.

“Okay. Meet me after school in the senior parking lot, we’ll go to my house.”

With his brain fried, Keith’s not even sure what he’s agreeing to. “Uh… okay.”

From the back of the classroom, Pidge sends him a thumbs up, winking as she mockingly smacks her lips together. Subtly flipping her off, Keith turns back to Lance to find his alluring blue gaze resting on him.

“Good, great, awesome! See you then.” Lance floats away with the crowd, as the rest of his classmates file out of the room, having heard the bell Keith had missed.

 

“Elena, is that you?” an older woman’s voice calls out from the back of the house.

“No, it’s me!” Lance hollers back before an almost invisible force knocks into him, arms wrapping tightly around Lance’s body. “Ugh, hermano, be gentle.”

Stepping cautiously out of Lance’s shadow, Keith is surprised to find a miniature Lance wrapped around the older one. The two brothers share the same hair, skin, and eye color--though the younger brother has more prominent freckles under his eyes and across his nose than Lance.

“I see you’re no longer sick, hermano.” Tousling his brother’s hair, Lance glances back at Keith, flashing a brilliant smile and quietly mouthing ‘he was totally faking it.’

Lance’s brother notices the transfer of attention and detaches from Lance, studying Keith. His sky blue eyes pop open and nudges Lance in the side. “He’s cute,” mini-Lance stage whispers, forcing a blush to spring up equally on both Keith’s and Lance’s faces.

The boy steps forward, curiosity shining in his eyes. “Your hair looks so fluffy,” he says with childlike awe. “Can I touch it?”   

“Uh, I--”

“Hermano, we’ve talked about this.” Lance moves to swoop in and pick his brother up, but the boy is too fast, racing away from Lance’s outstretched arms, giggling.

“Mamá, Lance brought someone home!” the mini-Lance screams as the young boy runs through the house.

“Sorry ‘bout that. Enrique likes to meet new people.”

Nervous, Keith tucks a lock of hair behind his ear. He had never been able to learn the benefits of siblings or a large family. Having your parents murdered when one was six years old by a drunk driver will cause that to happen, and Shiro acts more like a father figure than a brother, though legally Keith is his adoptive brother.

“Mijo, it better not be who I think it is.” Lance winces slightly at his mother’s harsh tone, but before he can respond, a woman walks into the hallway. There’s flour lightly scattered in her dark brown curls and coating her hands. She has chocolate brown eyes instead of Lance’s blue and Keith is already painting a mental picture of his father, who Lance must have gotten most of his looks from. But the personality, Keith discovers later, Lance got that from his mother.  

The frown on the woman’s face switches upward immediately. “Who’s this?” She claps her hands excitedly; a poof of powder fizzles into the air.

“I’m--”

“My new friend Keith.” Lance tugs him into a sideways hug; Keith’s legs stumble from the unexpected force. He is met with a whiff of summertime and the ocean breeze that tickles your face as your feet dig farther into the wet sand.  

“Hi.” Keith waves weakly, still trapped by Lance’s arm, “I’m here for a project if that’s okay, Mrs. McClain?”

“Of course it is, cariño.” Her smile is blinding; Keith has never felt more welcome. “I’ll get you two some snacks. Feel free to make yourself at home.”

“T-thank you.”

Lance releases him quickly, his mother gesturing for her son to follow, leaving Keith to awkwardly stand around not sure where to go. His hands slide into his pockets as he leans slightly forward, interested in the conversation. Their voices aren’t low enough for it to be considered private.    

Keith hears Mrs. McClain first. “A much better choice, Mijo.”

“No, mamá, it’s not--”

“I’m glad, Lance. The relationship you’re in, it’s not healthy. She’s no good.”

Any response from Lance is muffled by the rustling through the fridge or cabinets. Keith’s stomach growls in response and a few moments later Lance saunters out of the kitchen, a plate of cookies balancing on his palms.

“Let’s go” he says, already leading Keith up the stairs to what he assumes is Lance’s bedroom.

 

The nose pads of his glasses dig into the skin around his nose. He lays on Lance’s bed, curled slightly into the soft comforter. Sleep could take him if he would allow it. “Do we have to make a food chain like we did in fifth grade? With string and shit.” Keith scowls. “This is child’s play.”

“No, and no it’s not going to be _that_ easy.” Lance shoves the laptop in Keith’s lap, who grunts at the unexpected weight. “Three page paper plus some presentation slide or poster.”

“I hate her. Fuck this assignment.”

Lance nods in agreement. “Thank God Haggar put me with you, though; you’re like the top in the class.”

Keith narrows his eye, pushing his glasses up with one finger. “Listen hear, Lance, if you make me do this project by myself just remember that I know where you live…”

“Oh, a threat from the class bad boy! I’m sooo scared,” Lance mocks, holding his hands up in a fake surrender. The plate of empty cookies falls to the floor with a quiet thump as Lance heaves the warm covers off him. “Don’t go to sleep. _I_ don’t want to do this project by _my_ self.”  

Pouting, Keith wrestles for the dominant grip on the covers, attempting to jerk them out of Lance’s hands. “But your bed is so warm and comfy.”

“Hmpth, you’re a lot different in person than your rumors would suggest,” Lance unexpectedly states. The blanket falls out of his hands but Keith leaves it where it is, intrigued.

“And what are the rumors?”

Lance smirks, lips curling as he lays down next to Keith, eyes on the ceiling where old, glow-in-the-dark stars lie dormant. “Bad boy, doesn’t give a fuck about anyone, has a motorcycle, probably an arsonist.”

“I do have a motorcycle, but it’s not ah... operational.”

Lance’s laugh is spring itself, and Keith feels himself filling up with life as the lyrical noise drowns out any other sound in the room. It covers the frantic beating of Keith’s heart. “You know,” Lance says after his laugh fades into a chuckle and then disappears as a quiet giggle, “Your glasses really throw off that bad boy image. I don’t know where any of those rumors came from.”   

“I do,” Keith responds mysteriously, a new emotion caught in his eyes as he ignores his brains warnings, “I was kicked out of my last school ‘cause I set it on fire.”

“Really?” Lance says with awe, his eyes wide and believing.

“No. Well, I mean I did get kicked out but not for starting a fire. You’re so gullible.”

“Hmm, you’re much different than I thought you’d be,” Lance repeats again. He’s closer now; if Keith angled his head down their noses could and would brush.   

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

Lance doesn’t answer, and maybe he doesn’t know himself. “We need some music and art supplies,” Lance replies instead, and with that declaration, they set to work.

It’s two or three hours later--Lance’s alarm clock reads 4:30p.m. and Keith knows Shiro must be worried by this point; maybe he should call the garage but he doesn’t bother. He steals another subtle glance at Lance, something he has been doing every half hour or so. The boy’s hair is spiked from a constant frustrated hand running through it as they try to write the paper. Now the paper’s finished--it’s crappy but it’s written--and Keith twirls the red marker, tapping the cap on his upper lip as he tries to think of what to draw. What kind of predator: a tiger, a shark, a lion?

“Ooh, Keith!” Lance’s pitched voice causes him to drop the marker in fright. A red dot stains the white poster board. He frowns as Lance continues speaking, a new shine in his blue eyes. “Dance with me! I love this song.” Not waiting for an answer, Lance grabs Keith’s hands, dragging him off the floor.

He hadn’t even noticed the music for the past hour; it takes a few seconds for his ears to catch up with the lyrics. Fire races through his body, beginning at the area near his waist where Lance’s hand lies. Keith hopes his palms aren’t sweaty, but Lance doesn’t comment as he grabs onto Keith’s free hand.

_I fooled around and fell in love_

_I fooled around and fell in love, since I met you baby_

They lazily dance around his bedroom, carefully avoiding their poster and any haphazard piles of clothes Lance has left lying around. Keith refuses to look at Lance, afraid of what he’ll see and partially afraid Lance will see the affection swirling through his gray irises and the faint blush that always seems to be staining his cheeks these days. A breathy chuckle from Lance washes over his skin, seems like Lance has noticed anyways.

_I fooled around and fell in love_

_I fooled around and fell in love_

Entranced, Keith can barely remember where he is or what they were doing a meer minute ago. He concentrates on the Lance’s signature cologne and the heat from his hands and the sparks rising up in his chest, bursting with something Keith wishes he didn’t feel for this man. A quiet buzz breaks through the song.

“Lance, Lance, your phone’s ringing.”

“Oh.” They jerk to a stop. Lance breaks away, zeroing in on his phone. The radio continues to hum its tune as Lance picks up. A pause. “Hey, Nyma.”

The spell’s broken and the ecstasy from the dance shatters. When Keith realizes Lance won’t be concluding the phone conversation anytime soon, he quietly leaves, avoiding Mrs. McClain and Enrique if he can. He doesn’t leave soon enough though; as he softly shuts the door, he catches Lance’s soft words of “I’m sorry.” Fingers locking into fists, Keith silently fumes.

In the end, he still walks away.

* * *

**[Unknown]**

>sorry about yesterday

 

**[Keith]**

>who’s this

 

**[Unknown]**

>the name’s McClain, Lance McClain

 

**[Keith]**

>how’d you get my #

 

**[Lance]**

>Pidge

 

**[Keith]**

>i’m going to kill her

>and don’t worry about it

>we were practically finished anyways

 

**[Lance]**

>okay

>cool

>g’night<3

 

**[Keith]**

>...

>night

* * *

_But she wears short skirts_

_I wear T-shirts_

_She's cheer captain_

_And I'm on the bleachers_

* * *

There’s a rhythmic tap somewhere behind him; it bothers him more than it should. A whiff of perfume penetrates his nose as the girl in front of him flips her hair, trying to get it to fall in a certain angle. It still looks bad no matter how many time she attempts to fix it. Lance has an arm draped across her shoulders and Keith realizes that this must be Nyma. The Girlfriend.

“You know,” she says to Lance, “It’s unfair that the football team gets a pep rally but you don’t when you have a big meet.”

Lance doesn’t respond, his eyes glued on his phone as he furiously types out a response to who ever has captured his attention. Nyma pokes him in the shoulder as he takes his arm away, now typing with two hands instead of one. Even though Keith is seated behind them, he can still see Lance’s pinched gaze and the way his lips tremble.

“Lance, _Lance,_ why aren’t you listening to me!?”

“What?” he snaps, tearing his gaze away from his phone. The screen has faded to black but it still rests on his knee.

“I was saying that it’s unfair the swim team never gets a pep rally.”

“Yeah,” Lance replies weakly, his eyes once again glued onto his phone. Keith notes that no new message has come in for the past minute.

Nyma, finally catching on to what distracts Lance, fires off too many questions for Keith to comprehend while the whole gymnasium claps as the football players line up. “Who’re you texting? Is it a girl? Why is she more important than me? Are you planning on breaking up with me? Lance?”

“What the hell is your problem?” Lance grounds out, knuckles turning white as he clutches his phone. “I can text who I want.”

“I want to know who it is.” Nyma crosses her arms, eyes firm.

“It’s my mom, you _asshole_.” Keith watches a tear drip from his eyes, it rolls off his chin and disappears into thin air. He wonders if Nyma even noticed. “My dad’s in surgery and she’s texting me updates.”

Lance stands from the bleachers, rushing down and out of the gym. Nyma huffs, leaning back against the bench behind her. She crosses her legs, her cheer skirt hiking up a little higher on her thighs. A thought doesn’t even pass through Keith’s mind as he scrambles after Lance. He’s a step in front of where Nyma sits; courage racing through his veins, he turns to her. Her eyes narrow in on him, and there’s a hint of purple caught in her irises as she barely spares him a glance, her gaze telling Keith what she can’t even bother to say. He’s scum.

“You’re a real bitch.” Keith flees before Nyma can even respond.

The assembly is over by the time Keith discovers Lance. He’s out in the courtyard, allowing the downpour to wash over him, his brown hair curling in response to the rain. Placing his bag under the archway and away from the weather, Keith sucks in a bracing breath before stepping out. It’s cold, the rain immediately soaking his clothes and dripping into his skin. His long hair plasters to his face as his glasses become speckled with droplets. He takes them off to see better. Keith can’t tell if Lance is crying or if the stream of water falling from his eyes is just rain droplets.

“You’re going to get sick,” Keith states, sitting on the bench. He itches to brush the hair off of Lance’s face, at least to see his eyes clearly, but the action seems too intimate. His hands stay in his lap, linked together.

“Maybe I want to.”

Lance arches back, mouth wide open to catch the fat rain droplets pelting his face. Keith is officially freezing, the rain having soaked down into his bones. He shivers, drawing his leather jacket closer around his body, but it offers little protection. An arm wraps around his shoulder, pulling him into a surprisingly warm embrace.     

“You shouldn’t stay out here because of me.” Lance’s head rests on Keith’s; a new stream of water flies down his face. There’s a slight hint of salt.

“Maybe I want to,” Keith flings Lance’s own words back at him. When he closes his eyes, any water that had been collecting in his long lashes splashes onto his cheeks. “I was worried about you. I know we’re barely even friends but--”

“Dude, ‘barely even friends’? I brought you to my house and danced with you, that at least levels you up to friend status.”

The cold rain hampers the heat threatening to rise in Keith’s cheeks. “Then I guess I can say this without feeling like I’m pushing.” The pinging of the rain fills his silence as he takes a breath. “Break up with her.”

Lance doesn’t detach from him, and Keith releases a breath; at least he hadn’t been too direct. “In my heart I want to; oh God do I want to, but…. I can’t.”

“Why not?” Keith presses for an explanation, his body leaning dangerously into Lance as he angles his head to try and read his expression.

Lance fumbles with his words before coming up with a coherent response. “I--I just can’t. We made a promise to each other.”

“That’s a stupid excuse.”

Lance doesn’t contradict him; instead he hums, a low mutter of a lullaby Keith has never heard before. It’s sweet, the rhythm of the song paired with the patter of rain. Slowly Keith closes his eyes again, basking in the warmth radiating off of Lance’s skin and his scent trickling into his nose. A minute or two may have passed by the time Keith decides to speak again.

“Is your dad alright?” Keith notices Lance doesn’t have his phone out anymore, even in this downpour. Though he met Mrs. McClain during that one day he was over working on the Biology project, he never did run into Lance’s father.

“Mamá says he came out fine.”

“That’s great!”

Lance stares at him from the corner of his eyes; Keith tries not to make eye contact. He fidgets slightly on the wet stone bench, brushing some soaked locks out of his eyes.

“Thanks for caring,” Lance finally comments, a small smile plays at his lips as he stares off into the retreating rain. It’s still cloudy, but the sun is just starting to poke through.

Keith responds with a faint blush on his pale cheeks, the rain no longer able to contain it.  

A week later Keith spies Lance and Nyma walking hand and hand down the hallway. To everyone else, their relationship seems patched up. But Keith can see the tightness of Lance’s jaw, how he never smiles anymore, and how his vibrant blue eyes are dull, the color of the sky on a stormy day.

Lance catches Keith’s gaze, his eyes sad, and his fingers loosen from Nyma’s hold as if wanting to walk away and stand by Keith’s side. Nyma tugs Lance back, though, but their eyes stay in contact until Lance disappears down another hallway.

* * *

**[Lance]**

>hey babe<3

 

**[Keith]**

>this is keith

>not your girlfriend

 

**[Lance]**

>i know;)

 

**[Keith]**

>what do you want

>don’t call me babe

 

**[Lance]**

>your no fun

>*you’re

>wanna go to a movie

 

**[Keith]**

>as friends?

 

**[Lance]**

>unfortunately

 

**[Keith]**

>....

>k

>but it has to be horror

 

**[Lance]**

>yay!

>you wanna hold me when i get scared

>dontcha?

 

**[Keith]**

>stfu

 

**[Lance]**

>see you at 7<3

* * *

_If you can see that I'm the one who understands you_

_Been here all along so why can't you see_

* * *

“So what are you going to do about Lance?”

Keith tears his eyes away from the movie, missing the killer end the life of his next victim. Neither of them scream; Shiro’s and Pidge’s faces are blank. They’ve all seen this movie before and Keith isn’t sure why Shiro wanted to watch it again. It wasn’t that good to begin with. “What?” _Had he heard Pidge correctly?_

Shiro leans in now, his concentration diverting away from the movie and onto their conversation. “Yes, what about _Lance_ , Pidge?” Shiro chimes in, a smirk playing at his lips.

“Oh you know, Keith’s hopeless crush…” She bats her eyes, looking expectantly at him. “So, give us the details already!”

Keith sinks lower into the cushions, praying to be swallowed whole by the old couch. “What’s there to tell; you probably already found out everything without my help.” He buries his hand in the bowl of popcorn, his fingers brushing over the burnt kernels that have drifted to the bottom. It calms him.

“True, true, but I’d rather hear it from your mouth, and besides, Shiro doesn’t know.” Pidge adjusts her glasses before muting the television.

Shiro’s body leans closer, reaching to grab a handful of popcorn. “Come on, Keith, for you big brother. It can be my birthday present,” he whines between bites.

“Your birthday was two months ago, so no.” Keith harshly bats Shiro’s hand away, his blunt fingernails banging against Shiro’s metal prosthetic.

“ _Keith_!” they both cry out, simultaneously bombarding Keith with their puppy dog eyes.

“God, fine; I’ll tell!” They grin, their lips reaching their eyes which crinkles with happiness.

Keith has a hard time controlling the nervous bile rising in his throat. Closing his eyes for a second, he begins to search for the words, wondering how he is going to phrase these feelings or whatever the hell Lance is making him experience. He takes a breath.

“Lance and I, we’ve been hanging out more, and I know he has a girlfriend, but I think he might actually like-like me.” Keith ends with a violent blush, burying his face in his hands with a muffled groan. Considering Lance practically asked him out on a date a week ago, unadulterated hope has blossomed in Keith’s heart. It’s untamable now, wrapping him in its web.

Keith glances at Pidge first; the frown on her pale face confuses him. “Well, that’s disappointing. I heard that you two were getting it on in the Janitor’s closet.”

“What?”

“Excuse me! My baby brother is too young to engage in those… activities,” Shiro practically screams, hugging Keith from behind and forcefully dragging him into a protective embrace. His chin rests of his head, and Keith doesn’t even fight it. He hasn’t been hugged in a long time, even if this one was done without consent. His eyes still roll though.

“That’s just what I heard.” Pidge shrugs nonchalantly, amused by the scene before her. At least she doesn’t have her phone out; at least Keith can be spared that embarrassment. His ears still ring with Pidge’s words as he concentrates on the rhythmic pulse of Shiro’s heart beat.

“Okay, Keith, it seems--”

“Takashi, I swear to God if you start giving me the sex talk I will steal your prosthetic while you’re in the shower!” Keith arches his head, staring his brother right in the eyes, his brow furrowed and his words unwavering.

“I won’t; I won’t,” Shiro promises, his eyes sparking with amusement. It’s an age later when he finally releases Keith from his hold, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss his brother’s comfort. They’ve forgotten the movie by then; the only sign that the television is still alive is by the logo bouncing back and forth between the edges of the screen. It never quite hits the corner.   

Pidge whispers into Keith’s ear, just as Shiro leaves, one more inquiry on her lips. “So you really didn’t blow Lance...?”

“Pidge! What the fuck?”

* * *

_And you've got a smile that could light up this whole town_

_I haven't seen it in a while since she brought you down_

* * *

Lance’s body races through the water, sharp enough to cut through with two streams running beside him. One arm up; one arm down. He’s in the lead, his fingers brushing the edge of the pool before diving back down to start another lap. Keith’s attention never veers off him, his eyes caught on the masterpiece that is Lance.

Lance has always been gorgeous--it’s concrete fact--with his wind tousled hair and his dark skin and beautiful features. But he hadn’t realized how well the aroma of chlorine and that shine of blue from the water complimented him in a way no outfit ever would. Lance was born to be in the water; Keith is certain of that. His eyes caught up with Lance and his mind equally occupied with thoughts of the man, Keith has a hard time catching up to the sounds around him.

The people on his side of the bleachers are in uproar, either yelling at the referee or muttering some equally unkind things under their breaths. Keith whips his head around, dejected faces stare blankly back at him. Somehow in the course of staring at Lance, he missed the other opponents and how Lance was one second too late reaching the edge of the pool.

That’s what the referee concludes, Lance had been one second too late and their school loses the swim meet.

Nyma sits far away from Keith, practically on the opposite side of the bleachers--a part of him wonders if she did that on purpose--, but he can easily read her features. Disappointment drowns every inch of her face, her eyes filling with contempt. Nyma stands, tying her blonde hair into a messy bun, and walks closer to Lance, a broken expression all too easily visible. His swim cap is crumpled in his hands. His teams mates pat him on the back though, hoping to bolster his spirits. Their kind words spread far throughout the vast room.

 _He seems to be on the verge of tears_ , Keith thinks, watching this interaction with baited breath.

Lance perks up slightly, a smile touching at the corners of his mouth. It soon falls, though, as Nyma walks past him, never sparing him a glance. Her eyes catch on to the competitor’s--the one that beat Lance--sending him a small smile and flirtatious bat of her eyes.  

Keith quickly ignores them, meeting Lance halfway as they subconsciously begin to walk closer to each other. Gathering up courage Keith didn’t know he possessed, he places a hand on one of Lance’s trembling one’s. “Hey, it’ll be okay. No one’s mad at you.”

He grabs onto Keith’s hand, caging it in his grasp. “I’m mad at myself,” he confides, staring into Keith’s eyes. They’re tucked away in a corner somewhere; it feels like they’re alone though many people move around them.

“You shouldn’t be.”

“I know, I know. I was just one second off. But this was my last meet of high school; I wanted to win, you know?”

“Yeah, but Lance, think of all the trophies you won during high school. That is your legacy, your accomplishments. No one will remember this match, but they’ll remember you and you as a captain. Who cares about one stupid meet?”

Lance blinks, whether shocked or confused or moved Keith isn’t sure. “How do you always know the right things to say?” he ends up asking, pulling Keith closer. A pungent gust of chlorine drifts into his nose. He has never liked a smell more.    

“I--I just say stuff from the h--heart.” _Is he blushing again?_ He hopes not.

Lance responds without words this time, and when Nyma isn’t watching--her eyes had been boring into the back of Keith’s head the entire time--, Lance chastely places a quick kiss on Keith’s cheek before scurrying away to the locker rooms.

Standing there dumbstruck, his fingers grazing over the spot of contact, Keith wonders when the storm will come crashing down on Lance. On the both of them.

* * *

**[Keith]**

>what was that

 

**[Lance]**

>what was what?

 

**[Keith]**

>the kiss

>wtf

>you have a girlfriend

 

**[Lance]**

>unfortunately

>it was a spur of the moment decision

>did i mess up

 

**[Keith]**

>....

 

**[Lance]**

>Keith?

>buddy?

>did you fall asleep?

>please answer

* * *

_Oh, I remember you drivin' to my house in the middle of the night_

* * *

Keith isn’t sure what caused him to stay up late working on his bike. Grease coats his forearms and places on his face where he accidentally used his arm to wipe away sweat. It’s midnight; he lost track of time. Shiro went to bed ages ago with a mumble of ‘don’t stay up late.’ Well Keith broke that small promise. But he’s not tired.

As he blindly searches for a wrench he knows he placed off to the right, a slight tap on one of the garage doors echoes throughout the place. The person or animal or whatever is outside knocks again, this time on the actual door, before Keith realizes he should probably answer it. The thought of a robber does pass through his head as he quiets the radio, but their garage barely makes a profit. Who’d want to rob this place? Besides, Keith is certain he can fend them off--he’s been in enough fights after all--and Shiro is an ex-marine. They’ll be fine.

He didn’t know who he was expecting to be at the door this late at night. But any scenario that passed through his mind on his walk to the door did not include Lance. Yet here he is, a slightly drunk Lance, but Lance nonetheless. His blue eyes are cold in the comfortable warmness of the spring-almost-summer night. The full moon casts a second layer on his skin, one that glows in the darkness.

“Can I come in?” he barely slurs; at least he seems to be with it. Keith spots a beer can in his hand.

“Y-yeah.”

Lance awkwardly pats Keith’s shoulder as he passes. “Thanks.”

Before Keith can turn around after closing the door, a loud whistle penetrates the quiet space. Lance leans against a pole, gazing at Keith’s work-in-progress. “She’s going to be a beauty,” Lance says, appreciating the bike. He turns his gaze to find Keith stopping inches away from him. “You built this?”

“From scratch.”

Lance nods, taking another sip from his drink. “Impressive.”

Heat flares up in Keith’s cheeks from the praise. “W-what are you doing here?”

He almost trips over his own feet as he walks closer to Keith; he places the beer can on the workbench. “Hmm, oh, well I was wondering if I could ask you for a favor?” He cocks his head to the side, his eyes wide and innocent and his arms uncharacteristically calm instead of making wild gestures while he talks.

It unsettles Keith so he simply nods, gesturing for him to continue.

“Fuck me.”

“ _Excuse_ me?”

Lance rolls his eyes, swaying from side to side, boredom coating every inch of his expression. “Sleep with me, have sex with me, whatever term you prefer.”

There is not one coherent thought running through Keith’s head. “W-why?” he asks before his nerves begin to harden.

“Nyma cheated on me, and I want to get revenge. I know you like me too; at least that’s what Nyma says. She already thinks I fuck you so why not make it true?” Lance explains. He skips a little as he moves closer, now a mere inch away. His breath reeks of alcohol, and Keith recoils.

“No.”

“I’ll bottom, I don’t mind,” he replies as if that will make it better. He grabs onto Keith, spinning him around and around and around. The world’s a blur before he has to tightly close his eyes. Lance’s grip is both uncomfortably warm and cold. Unnatural. The spinning ceases--though the grip doesn’t loosen--and Keith is finally able to collect his thoughts.

“No, Lance, you’re drunk.” Keith pushes Lance off of him. Fury races through his veins. How dare he; how dare Lance plays with his feelings like that. Drunk or not….

“I don’t feel drunk enough,” Lance sighs, plopping down on the ground. He reaches for his beer, jiggling it only to find it empty. Disappointed, he lazily tosses it over his shoulder; it lands somewhere deep within the bowels of the garage, clattering against something hard and metal.

“So you’d only sleep with me if you were drunk?”

Lance laughs, actually laughs. The sweet sound now haunted with something Keith has no taste for. “No, I’d fuck you any time, any day. It’s just tonight, tonight I need to be drunk for other reasons.” He flops on the ground, the ends of his hair brushing the dirty concrete. “I need to forget the image of Nyma on top of that other guy. I don’t even know why I care; I _hated_ her.”

Keith leans over him, emotionless with his arms across his chest. “I’m sorry Nyma cheated on you and I hope you broke up with her. But I won’t sleep with you.”

“Some friend you are.” The complaint drifts through the air, settling onto Keith’s skin.

“You need to go to bed, Lance. Sleep on our couch and when your mind’s clear in the morning, we’ll _talk_.” Keith stretches out a hand; it takes a few seconds before Lance’s grabs it, his hands cold and clammy.

“T-thanks, Keith.” Lance slumps in Keith’s arms as he leads him upstairs.

 

 

The next day Lance apologizes. It’s sudden and too early in the morning for Keith to comprehend Lance’s words, so he stares at the man on his couch. His bed head’s cute and it almost overloads Keith’s brain. A spot of drool on Lance’s bottom lip has escaped his hand wiping across his face.

“Earth to Keith. Keith, buddy, are you sleepwalking?” Lance is in front of him now. _How’d he get there that fast?_ His gray eyes barely have time to refocus to see a brown hand waving in front of his face, a blur of motion.

“Uh, no, no, sorry. What were you saying?” The cereal box in Keith’s hand drops to the counter.

“I’m sorry for what I said last night; I don’t really remember much but I remember what I asked.” There’s a pause in his words and Keith frowns as he notices Lance’s eyes tremble, as if he’s about to cry. “I was rude, inconsiderate. I had no right to say those things. I’m feel awful. Like ten times worse than the usual hangover. I know I fucked up everything with u-us, and I wish I didn’t.” Lance raises his head to gaze at Keith, his expression unreadable. “I d-do like you Keith, like really, _really_ like you, but if you don’t want to see me again…” Trailing off, Lance looks helplessly at Keith’s passive face than at the door. “I should leave.”

Keith wonders what Shiro thought when he discovered Lance--or to him, a random stranger--on their couch. He should be at work by now, downstairs. Since Lance is still alive, Keith takes that as a sign that Shiro had been too sleepy to even notice the extra body in their apartment. Keith frantically shakes his head, clearing away the morning thoughts as his tangled hair whips his neck. When he glances up, there is nobody in sight, until he hears the familiar creak from their door opening and catches Lance, head down and body shaking, beginning to walk out.

“No, no! Wait, Lance!” Keith desperately calls out.

He sprints, crossing the length of their apartment in one fell swoop. His fingers brush against Lance’s soft cotton shirt, his hand pressing into skin as he tries to pull Lance away from the stairs. He does stop, turning, his eyes bright with unshed tears. Stretching, Keith reaches to place a hand on Lance’s face, his thumb brushing over his smooth skin, wiping away a single tear that had started to fall.  

“I know you were drunk; I don’t hold it against you. Don’t leave, please don’t leave. I think I love you, though I never loved anybody before so I don’t know if that’s what I’m feeling but--”

“Keith, babe, you’re rambling.” Lance laughs, his head dipping down to press against Keith’s forehead. The laughter is beautiful again and Keith almost cries from happiness.

“I thought I told you not to call me babe,” he replies with no anger, only joy.

“I know.”

Keith initiates the kiss first, his lips desperate to taste Lance. His hands curl into his brown hair, dragging him closer and closer, so their bodies can mold into one. Lance’s moan vibrates against their lips, as his arms encircle Keith’s waist. Fire erupts over both of their bodies, flames jumping around, uncontrollable. It’s perfect; Lance is perfect; everything’s perfect. When they break, a welcoming breath of air flooding into Keith’s lungs, three words are spoken between them, suspended in the miniscule space separating their lips and gazes.   

“I love you.”

* * *

_You belong with me_

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave comments and kudos:)


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